


Still Don't Know Where We’re Going (But Look How Far We've Come)

by spacetrek



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics), Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, No proofreading we die like mne, because bruce uses that more than the Friend word, i'm at work rn but nobody has showed up so i'm writing about these two again, rated for exactly one use of the F word
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-26 00:17:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17735396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacetrek/pseuds/spacetrek
Summary: Bruce loves to show up announced at unholy hours of the night as Batman, but rarely as Bruce Wayne.It doesn't take the World's Greatest Detective to know there's something wrong.





	Still Don't Know Where We’re Going (But Look How Far We've Come)

Clark could count the number of times Bruce had come to his apartment as Bruce, rather than Batman, on one hand.

 

He wasn’t even Bruce Wayne tonight – no thousand-dollar suits (though his slacks probably cost more than Clark’s rent), no insincere smiles, no insistence on pronouncing his name wrong when he was mad at Clark for some reason. 

 

Bruce didn’t look mad tonight.He didn’t look anything, really. 

 

Clark knew better than to trust what Bruce looked like.

 

“Nice of you to drop in,” he offered, when it looked like Bruce wasn’t going to say anything.“Do you need something?”

 

Bruce slithered down from the windowsill.“No.”

 

“Do you _want_ something?”

 

Bruce shut the window and locked it.It hadn’t been locked when he came in; Clark expected at least a few stern words on the topic of ‘safety’ and ‘keeping up appearances’ and ‘I don’t care if you’re Superman,’ but Bruce just said, “No.”

 

Clark bit back his reflexive accusation of “you’re lying to me.” Bruce _was_ lying to him, he was sure of it, but calling him on it would be the fastest way send Bruce back out the window.

 

He didn’t even know why Bruce was lying.He wasn’t sick, and his heartbeat was steady, and his breathing was so regular you could set a clock—ah.

 

He was counting.

 

Bruce was only so careful when he had something to hide from Clark.

 

Certain now, Clark set aside his book.“Do you want something to drink?”

 

Clark could almost see Bruce’s instinctive ‘no,’ but Bruce stopped, considered for a handful of seconds, then said, “Yes.”

 

“We’ve got tea, coffee, juice…”he raised his eyebrows.

 

“Tea.The—"

 

“I know, the fancy stuff you gave me.”

 

“Being real tea doesn’t make it fancy, Clark.”

 

“The sooner you admit you’re a tea snob, the sooner we can all move on with our lives, Bruce.”

 

“Nhn.”Bruce’s eyes tracked vaguely across the bookshelf, and he lost even a feigned interest in continuing their usual banter.

 

Clark’s caution took a nosedive into worry.He didn’t let it show.“You know, you’re dressed like a normal person tonight.You could do normal people things, like sit down.” _Instead of lurking by the bookshelf_ was unsaid but heavily implied.

 

Bruce didn’t respond, but when Clark turned back from the tea a minute later he was sitting on the couch.

 

“Not that I’m not delighted to see you at—"Clark glanced up at the stove clock “—one thirty-three in the morning, but what exactly are you doing here?”

 

“Isn’t this what people do.Visit.”

 

“They do,”Clark replied, ignoring Bruce’s unsubtle non-answer,“but usually they have some reason for visiting.”He sat down at the opposite end of the couch and handed Bruce a bright yellow mug of tea.

 

Bruce stared down at it without drinking.“A whim, maybe.”

 

Bruce didn’t do whims.Bruce didn’t do an even number breaths a minute or casual visits with tea, either, and he knew that Clark knew all of this.

 

Not quite lying, if they both knew it wasn’t the truth.

 

Two steps forward and one step back. 

 

Clark took a sip of his own tea – it was actually pretty good.Bruce continued to watch his like it might jump out of the mug, just holding it between his palms.

 

“Closed any cases recently?”

 

He’d been aiming for casual, but the slantwise look Bruce gave him suggested he’d missed.“Yes.”

 

“Difficult?”

 

Bruce took a long and somehow deliberate drink of his tea.It was still too hot for anyone without some kind of invulnerability, which meant that Bruce was scalding himself to postpone a question.Typical.“They’re all difficult, in some way.”

 

Clark hummed quietly.He knew that, too.

 

“It’s—”Bruce hesitated, started over.“I—”

 

All Clark’s powers did for him now was give him extra time to agonize over whether saying something would help push Bruce past his reticence, or ruin any chance of him talking at all.

 

Dithering at superspeed was still dithering, and Bruce forged ahead before Clark had made a decision.“I’ve had a few long nights.”

 

Bruce had long nights every night.This was different.This was perfectly steady breathing and perfectly steady hands and a perfectly steady voice.A perfect lie to anyone who wouldn’t look deeper.

 

Clark had x-ray vision.He was used to looking deeper.

 

“Okay.”

 

Studied neutrality was apparently the wrong call.“It’s not!”Bruce’s shoulders jerked, and he deliberately lowered his voice.“It’s not—it’s not okay.Nothing happened.I shouldn’t—I should go.”He stood up, fast, but Batman’s situation awareness failed him long enough for the mug balanced on his knee to go flying. 

 

They both looked at the wet spot on the carpet for a moment.

 

“Sorry.”Bruce ran a hand over his face; he suddenly looked exhausted.“Sorry, I’m—fuck.”He dropped back on the couch, hard.

 

Clark darted to the kitchen for a towel and was back before Bruce had picked up the mug.“It’s okay, Bruce, it’s just tea.I can make more.”

 

Bruce scowled.“Your carpet.”

 

“It’s had worse.”

 

“I—”

 

“You are not going to replace the carpet in my apartment because you spilled some tea.”

 

Bruce subsided, but the way he was eyeing the stain told Clark he could expect a visit from some professional cleaners within the next 24 hours.Probably while he was at work, just to be sure he wouldn’t try to pay.

 

“Bruce, listen.”Clark kept his eyes on the spill as he scrubbed at it.“I don’t mind that you’re here.If you actually want to leave, that’s fine, but if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather you stay.”

 

For a long moment the only sound was Bruce’s breathing, harsh and uneven now, then a swallow.“Okay.”

 

“Okay?”

 

“Okay, Clark.”

 

And that was as close to a declaration as Bruce was ever going to get.

 

They wound up side by side, Clark in the middle of the sofa this time instead of all the way across, Bruce holding a fresh mug of tea and wrapped in an afghan Martha Kent had made.Bruce vetoed a movie or a half-finished crossword, so Clark rambled about work (it was going well) and Lois (she was in Egypt right now, but also well) and the interview with a senator he had coming up (he wasn’t looking forward to it, but he hoped to get some good quotes).Bruce offered nothing more than the occasional rough grunt or quiet hum, but he was listening, and he didn’t seem quite as stiff as he had when he’d first come, so Clark kept talking, moving on to the tale of Lois and the Hilton Catastrophe.

 

“…and that’s why Lois is legally banned from all Hilton hotels and Perry White-banned from covering anything involving the mayor.”

 

Bruce’s studied detachment had softened over the course of Clark’s story.It was almost as good as a smile.“You have a formidable fiancé.”

 

“Yeah.”Clark knew he looked absolutely smitten every time someone reminded him that he and Lois were engaged and he didn’t care.“I do.”

 

“I appreciate this,”Bruce said, abrupt.“I’ve been—out of it, recently.Tired.”

 

 _Tired._ Clark knew what that meant, for Bruce – later nights and longer silences, food left more often untouched.Fewer calls to his kids and a vaguely bewildered expression when someone reached out to him.

 

A crushing feeling of not being enough.

  

Clark fully intended to have words and an extended argument on the subject, possibly with Dick or Alfred as backup, but not now.  Not tonight.

 

“Of course.”Clark finished the last of his lukewarm tea.“It’s nice to see you when the world’s not ending.”

 

“I saw you last week.”

 

“I was helping you on a case.Hal totaled your car.”

 

“That’s not—"Bruce visibly struggled with his desire to tell Clark not to overreact and his lingering resentment towards Hal.“—a good example,”he said at last.

 

“Uh huh.”

 

A long moment of silence.Clark was about to suggest a movie again, the fact that Bruce would probably hate everything in his collection be damned, when Bruce spoke up. 

 

“Did you visit your family this week?”

 

Clark raised an eyebrow.“I’m sure you already know the answer to that.”

 

“I do, but I’m trying to respect your privacy.”

 

“See, if you wanted to do that, you shouldn’t have told me that you knew.”

 

Bruce arranged his features into something approximating a pleasant smile.“Clark, I have absolutely no idea what you’ve been up to this week.Would you fill me in?”

 

“You’re terrible at this.”

 

Bruce’s face fell back to sharp and distantly tired.He must be truly exhausted, or completely past caring, to let even that much show.“I know.I don’t do this with many people.”

 

“You asked after Veronica Vreeland’s dog six times at the hospital benefit last month.”

 

“I don’t do this with many people from whom I care about the answer.”

 

Clark had been planning to answer anyway, but now he kind of felt like a heel for pushing.“Okay.Yeah, I went for dinner on Sunday.”

 

He talked about Ma and Pa and how they were both well (Pa’s heart was still skippy, but the doctors weren’t worried and Pa certainly wasn’t), and about the farm (the barn roof was sagging and Clark figured he’d have to take a day in the near future to fix it), and about the hot new gossip in Smallville (Widower Minnie Parson was finally going out with someone new, but refused to talk about them and no one knew who it was; Craig Miller’s daughter had opened her own dress shop), and about the dog he’d seen walking down the road behind the creek.None of this seemed like stuff Bruce would care about, but he’d never been shy about telling Clark to shut up when he didn’t like something.Maybe he just wanted something uncomplicated after a long, miserable week.

 

Or maybe he wanted something painless enough to send him to sleep.

 

Clark rescued Bruce’s mug before it slipped from his fingers and got on his carpet again.Bruce had only drunk half the tea, but it might still be the first thing in a while that he’d eaten or drunk just because he wanted to, and not because he had to.

 

Ducking into his bedroom, Clark hit speed dial 4.His call was picked up almost immediately.

 

“Wayne Manor.”

 

“Hey, Alfred, it’s Clark.”Clark did his best to keep his voice down without actually whispering.“I just wanted to let you know that Bruce is with me.I could send him back home, but he’s asleep right now, and I thought—you know.”

 

“Let him be.”Alfred’s voice was level as ever, but Clark could hear relief under decades of reserve.“He left some hours ago.I’d hoped he’d gone somewhere to unwind, but I didn’t imagine—no offense, of course.”

 

“None taken.I’m pretty surprised myself.”

 

“I hope he told you this himself after he imposed and before he passed out, but your kindness means a lot to him.” _To me, as well,_ Clark heard.

 

“He said something to that effect.”

 

“And it only took him a few years.”Alfred’s voice was dust dry.Clark smiled, as Alfred added, “If you can’t manage to make him eat anything before he leaves, or if he just absconds into the night, you’re more than welcome to visit for breakfast.”

 

“I might take you up on that.Good night, Alfred.”

 

“Good night, Master Kent.”

 

Clark poked his head into the living room.Bruce had slumped sideways, stretching out a little.

 

Clark picked up the afghan where Bruce had kicked it off and carefully draped it over him.Bruce twitched, but didn’t wake. 

 

Bruce’s trust felt heavy sometimes, like a weight Clark hesitated to bear.Not because of Bruce himself, but because of Clark.He didn’t want to let Bruce down.He wanted to be worth whatever trust Bruce could give.He wanted to be able to hold them both up when the heavy things in Bruce’s life started dragging him down.

 

Like every other time he’d thought about it, the hesitation only lasted a second.He was used to lifting heavy things, after all.

 

Besides, tonight wasn’t a night for heavy things.Tonight was for hushed voices and silent cities and understanding exactly what it meant that Bruce would let himself sleep on Clark’s couch.Tomorrow Bruce would be here, or he wouldn’t, and Clark would go to breakfast at the Manor, or he wouldn’t, the carpet would definitely get clean one way or another, and they would move on from there.

 

Clark settled into the armchair beside the couch and closed his eyes, narrowing his hearing to the tick-tock of the clock on the wall and the counterpoint whoosh-thump of Bruce’s heart.

**Author's Note:**

> when will I stop writing self indulgent nonsense late at night
> 
> title is from "Lucky Ones" by Lights


End file.
